If Today Was Your Last Day
by BlackBaby
Summary: one/shot song/fic to If Today Was Your Last Day by Nickelback. I don't own any lyrics or rights or whatever, they belong to nickelback. rated T for mature themes and possible cursing? i forgot :P


_**If today was your last day**_

_She collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. Taylor Vale had never been one to show much emotion, besides anger, and she was sick of it. She was tired of having to keep her guard up all the time, for fear someone would see her as less than perfect. What a joke. She didn't even know if she had an ounce of perfect in her. She was worthless, disgusting, and unwanted. Her friends weren't real friends, they were all fake. Every last one of them. No one really liked her, they were just scared of her. She was scared of herself, and the things she did to herself. She just cried harder, and let her tears fall onto her wrist, mixing with the blood dripping from her cuts._

_**And tomorrow was too late**_

_He ran his hand down his bedroom wall, and over the pictures that covered every inch. His eyes swept over them, and he was ashamed of what he saw. Dozens and dozens of pictures. Pictures of girls he had been with. He wasn't proud of the kind of person he was, and he didn't really understand what made him put their pictures on his wall. Maybe it was to remind him of what a jerk he was, to torture him and make him see that the only relationships he can have with girls are the ones where he doesn't learn their name until the next morning. With a frustrated groan, Colt Warren tore several pictures down and ripped them apart. He kept ripping them until there was nothing left but small pieces, and then he fell onto his bed. He landed on something, and realized it was a stuffed monkey that his girlfriend Sam had given him, before she had broken up with him. He ripped it's head off and hurled it at the wall, so two more pictures fluttered down._

_**Would you say goodbye to yesterday?**_

_She stared at her hand intently, as if that would make what was in it vanish. In her hand, she held a clump of her own vibrant red hair. With her other hand, she rubbed a spot on the back of her head that was now bare. With tears in her eyes, she gently released the clump and dropped it into the toilet. She flushed it down, watching as it circled down and went away. She was sick. She was gross and sick. What kind of a sick person pulls out clumps of their own hair? She had such beautiful hair, everyone had told her, but she couldn't help it. She had to pull it out. Amanda Applebee reached again and tugged at strands painfully. She desperately yanked and pulled out another large clump of her hair. She sank down to the floor and wiped at her eyes. She shouldn't be crying, this was what she wanted. This was good, it made her happy to pull. She never wanted to stop. But she still cried._

_**Would you live each moment like your last**_

_He stared at himself in the mirror. Hector Alonzo wasn't good enough. He wasn't good enough for anyone. He took off his shirt and looked at his body. He wasn't toned enough, or strong enough, or muscular enough. No girl would want him. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to tell himself that he looked good. He looked terrible. His eyes locked on the white pill he had placed on the sink in front of him, next to a glass of water. He quickly gulped the pill down with the water, before he had time to think about what he was doing. Before he realized what was happening, his face was in the toilet and he was vomiting. He didn't regret it, he knew what he was doing was needed. He didn't look good enough for people to look at him, and throwing up made him look better. He knew it was right._

_**Leave old pictures in the past?**_

_She looked at her phone. On it, were pictures of him with new girls. New girls that weren't her. She screamed and hurled her phone onto the floor, watching as it shattered. She sat on her bed and cried. As the tears fell, she shakily reached for a notebook. She flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning over dozens of pictures of him. Him with her, when they were together, him by himself, him with new girls, sluts and whores that she didn't want to think about him being with. She could remember taking every single one. Standing in the freezing cold or the hot sun, waiting to get a picture of him. She slammed the notebook shut and let out a sob. Samantha Hill was obsessed. She was obsessed with Colt, and it killed her that she had broken up with him. She cried herself to sleep every night and wished he was there with her. She couldn't understand why she had left him, and she never would._

_**Donate every dime you had**_

_Worthless. Fake. Ashamed. Disgusted. Whore. Sick. Right. Wrong. Obsessed. Regret. _

_**If today was your last day.**_


End file.
